In the Name of the Father
by SeaFever2006
Summary: 16 year old Dylan West has taken ‘due process’ into her own hands, determined to rescue a downed Navy pilot in the Middle East. When she gets in over her head, she enlists the help of a mysterious acquaintance she met on Christmas Eve.


**In the Name of the Father**

**Disclaimer: **Obviously, tragically, all characters you recognize from the show do not belong to me. Dylan West and family, Samir, Scott Yost, and others are mine.

**Summary: **16-year-old Dylan West has taken 'due process' into her own hands, determined to rescue a downed Navy pilot in the Middle East. When she gets in over her head, she enlists the help of a mysterious acquaintance she met on Christmas Eve.

Rated for language and violence that's mild now, but may escalate in later chapters.

This story takes place _before_ Mattie (sp?) was introduced (whatever season that was) and is somewhat AU in that respect, since I'm tentatively replacing her with my character. I will do my best to be accurate, but it was been quite a while, things have become somewhat jumbled, and I don't really remembered what happened when.

I've been bouncing this idea around for a couple of years and finally worked up the courage to write it. This is my first piece of JAG fan fiction ever, and only my second on FF.N. Detailed reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated. Please write more than "I liked that!" or "That was good." I love complements, and I don't mean to sound ungrateful, I just want to know _what _you liked, or what might need work. I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter One: Home for Christmas**

**A Private Air Field in North Dakota**

**Monday, December 6 **

**1500 hours CT**

The dogfight was over. The victor, a Navy Corsair, made an easy, graceful landing on the east runway. The pilot's appearance belied the performance that had just been given, as the giggling teen scrambled out of the plane, grinning from ear to ear. She was a pretty, trim 16-year-old with chestnut hair and brilliant blue eyes. She wore an antique bomber jacket. The nametape on the flight jacket said "CPT. JEREMY R. WEST"; it was her grandfather's name.

The girl trotted over to where her opponent stood by the other war bird, a rebuilt P-51 Mustang. The other pilot, an active duty Air Force officer twice her age, looked as if he'd been punched in the stomach.

She looked him over with a sympathetic eye. Seeing him hunched over against the plane, pale, eyes watery, almost made her feel sorry for beating him. Almost.

"It wasn't that bad was it?" she asked.

The losing pilot didn't seem to hear the question. The first he managed formed a tentative question.

"Are you _sure_ you're going to join the Navy?"

The girl laughed. "Yes, I'm quite sure. Don't waste your breath trying to recruit me, Colonel. I've got a tradition to keep."

The Airman shook his head. "I just…I don't…who taught you to fly like that?"

The girl's smile broadened. "My daddy taught me." she said as if she hadn't done anything noteworthy. "I guess you could say that the talent runs in our family."

"Which is?"

The girl's brow furrowed. "Pardon?"

The older pilot clarified himself. "Do I get to the name of the _girl_ who just waxed me, or are you gonna play coy?"

"Oh! You mean you don't know who I am?" she said, genuinely surprised.

"I haven't a clue."

The teen held out her hand. "Dylan West."

The man's eyes narrowed as he shook her hand. "You're Commander West's daughter?"

"Guilty."

"Sweet Jesus! Then it isn't a publicity stunt." The Airman shook his head. " 'Runs in your family', huh? That was modest."

"Well, there's no point in beating a man when he's down. Still, it's a shame we couldn't arrange a contest in something that'll do more than 300 mph. But this was a truer test of skill. The Air Force has shoved so much of that supersonic instrument crap down your throat that you've forgotten how to really _fly_."

"What happened to not beating a man when he's down?" Colonel Tift said sheepishly.

"You're right, Colonel. I'm sorry, especially sorry that your friends didn't tell you. That wasn't very fair."

"They just said it was a contest against some rookie, some kid who thought they knew it all. A simulated dogfight in a couple of restored planes from the Second World War."

Dylan was genuinely amused. "And what do think of their assessment now?"

"That they didn't know what the hell they were talking about."

Dylan's reply was cut off a sudden insistent ringing. She fished in her jacket pocket and produced a satellite phone. She held up one finger. "Excuse me just one moment, Colonel Tift."

She punched the call button. "Hello?"

"Hey, Sweetheart."

"Dad! Hi! Wow, I didn't expect to hear from you. Where are you?"

"The Med. And I wouldn't have called this early, but I have some news I know you'll wanna hear."

"Yeah?"

"I'll be home for Christmas."

"What! Will you really?" She was ecstatic and incredulous; her father had not spent Christmas at home since before she could remember.

"Yep. My flight back stateside leaves Friday. I was hoping you and I could spend Christmas in D.C. I thought you might drop in on A.J. and spent some time with him till I get there."

"Yeah, sure, that sounds wonderful."

A couple hours later, Dylan had parted ways with the luckless airman and was back at her hotel room in Bismarck, securing plane tickets back to the East Coast.

**Washington International Airport**

**December 9**

**1900 hours EST**

Dylan stood in the terminal at Washington National Airport, punching insistently on the buttons of her cell phone. Still no dial tone. Fed up, the teen slammed it shut and shoved it in her coat pocket.

"Trouble?" she heard someone ask. Turning to face the speaker, she poured her heart out to the man.

"Apparently," she said, her voice tinged with mock ferocity, "all the money in the world cannot buy you decent reception in a snow storm." Here she paused to glare momentarily at the white out scene that lay just beyond the windows.

The man smiled. He was a Middle Eastern man with handsome features. He had neatly trimmed hair and a goatee and was dressed in a tailored black suit. Samir was his name and he had protected Dylan West since childhood. He flashed a delighted grin and reached in the pocket of his suit.

"Here, use mine."

He held out a phone.

"The satellite phone!" she exclaimed. "I was looking for that!"

Samir grinned fiendishly. "I know."

Smirking, Dylan took the phone. "Probably won't work either…"she muttered.

"Um, Dylan?" Samir pried cautiously.

"Hmm?"

"Maybe you should find a seat before you call."

She was standing in the middle of the crowd and Samir, standing there with her luggage, was tired of apologizing to hurried travelers who had to maneuver around them.

"Oh! Sorry, you're right." She shut the phone again and the two made their way to the chairs in the waiting area. After they were settled, Dylan dialed again.

**Admiral Chegwidden's apartment**

**Washington D.C.**

A.J. swatted angrily at the ringing phone, not fully returned from the dream world. With a jerk, he was suddenly awake. Growling under his breath, he snatched up the phone and punched the call button.

"Chegwidden." He barked.

"Admiral?" came the reply. The voice was lyrical, soft and if he heard right, startled.

Trying to ride over his embarrassment, he spoke.

"Dylan! Hi! I heard you're coming to visit me."

A short, incredulous laugh came through the receiver.

"How'd you know?"

"Your dad called from the _Seahawk_. Where are you?"

"I'm at the airport. We just got here fifteen minutes ago."

A.J. glanced at the clock, prompted by his manners…and his growling stomach.

"You hungry?" he asked. "I could come pick you up and we could get something to eat."

"No thank you, A.J. I'm a bit jet lagged. Besides, I've got to get back and get the key to dad's apartment from the landlady before it's too late. How about lunch at the OC tomorrow?"

"Um, sure. Sounds great. See you later, Dylan."

"Bye, A.J."

**David West's apartment**

**Near Arlington, VA**

**2300 hours**

Samir sat in the kitchenette, nursing a cup of herbal tea and gazing into the den, staring dreamily into the flames of the fireplace. He smiled as his eye fell on Dylan's sleeping form on the sofa. She lay sprawled out under a quilt and an unfinished book lay open on her knees.

_She looked so much like her mother. _

Even after more than a decade, Samir's chest still ached when he thought of Dylan's mother and the day of her death. Without warning, he slipped away and found himself immersed in those painful memories.

_Sunlight played across the stone courtyard and water bubbled from the fountain in its center. The shadows of palm fronds danced across the terrace where he stood. _

_A loud explosion shattered the tranquil scene. Before he knew what was happening, he was running. Angry shouts filled his ears. He'd never remembered the Arabic language sounding so vile. Shots rang out and he saw them skipping off the stones. Diving across the courtyard, he flew up the stairs to Evelyn's room. _

_He was too late._

_He could smell the blood before he saw it and then, there it was, staining the landing. The door was open just a crack. He flung it wide. His memories of the next minutes were mercifully blurred. Then he was running down the hallway and his eyes fell on the child. The blue eyed, brown haired girl cowered in the corner._

"_Habbie!" he cried, calling the child be her pet name. _

_She sprang from her hiding place and threw herself into his arms. As he cradled her, he could feel the child's hot tears soak his shirt. More shouts, vulgar words that stung his ears. Another explosion, a shower of shattered glass and masonry. The child in his arms was screaming and sobbing despite his efforts to calm her. _

The memories leapt forward…

_He was standing in the doorway of the tent, watching an American naval officer carry Evelyn's six-year-old child out of his life, seemingly forever. Samir had saved her life out of devotion and sheltered her there in the desert out of love. But Evelyn's widower, Lt. Cmdr. David West, had made it abundantly clear that he didn't see it that way. _

The two men had met before when a newly engaged Evelyn Brighton had introduced her life long friend and bodyguard, Samir Abdul-Hasib, to her husband-to-be. David had been cordial enough at first, but had quickly come to resent Samir and the relationship he had with Evelyn, and then, eventually, their daughter, Dylan. The men's relationship had been strained at best, but there had been an uneasy peace while Evelyn was alive. But then…

That awful day a decade ago, Samir had looked into David's eyes and seen unbridled hatred. Dylan would be ten years old before her father's wall of pride had crumbled and he allowed Samir back into his daughter's life. David's naval career took him all over the world, making life as a single parent virtually impossible, so he was somewhat relieved when Samir had offered to watch over Dylan. Since then, Samir had been Dylan's shadow. Equal parts disciplinarian and confidant, in many ways Samir had been a greater force in Dylan's upbringing than her father. But he knew his limits. When David was home on leave, Samir disappeared from the scene completely, not daring to come between David and the precious few moments he had with his daughter.

Sitting there in the den of an apartment that the Wests occupied maybe two months of the year, Samir pondered how he was about to spend his first Christmas alone. It would be his first alone in almost seven years and David's first at home since Dylan was too young to remember. As much as it saddened him, Samir was determined to let father and daughter savor this momentous occasion alone. He hadn't told Dylan though. She would certainly protest when she heard his plans; Samir knew that much. Maybe he would spring it on her over breakfast tomorrow morning…

_**How was that? Haven't even gotten to JAG yet, but I had a lot of stuff to introduce about my character.**_


End file.
